


A Smaller God

by Abyssiniana



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abuse of Power, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Blood Drinking, Business, Clans, Clubbing, Diablerie (Vampire: The Masquerade), F/M, Food Sharing, Gen, Ghouls, Learning the ways of the night, M/M, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Politics, Semi-Public Sex, Teaching, Thin-Bloods, Vampire spells
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2020-11-08 11:53:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20835017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abyssiniana/pseuds/Abyssiniana
Summary: And I, I could have died last nightBut I heard the voice of asmaller god— as in, the author's 2019 Halloween special, with (hopefully) daily updates to followVtM's Inktober prompts!





	1. Haven

_ The meaning of the word “home” was always important. Home is where your family is, where you’re the most comfortable, surrounded by warmth and little things you bought across the years to make it look like it’s yours. Where it’s okay to walk barefooted, to wear only your pyjama bottoms or to eat a spoonful of mayo straight from the jar.  _

** _Who the hell does that?_ **

_ A home is a number of points, lines, planes and angles, with width, length and depth, taking up physical space in some suburban neighbourhood, an apartment, or a cul-de-sac. It’s a roof over your head. _

_ Home is where you’re headed after a long day and where you remain until you’re rested enough to get out again. It’s where your favourite soaps, shampoos and shower gels are lined-up on the edge of the tub, where you don’t have to bother to remove the hair from the drain. Where the trash piles up until the smell contaminates most of the kitchen and you actually decide to take it out. _

_ It’s you, removing your shoes by the entrance so you won’t mud the piece of tapestry you bought for the hall, it’s food on your fridge and on your kitchen counter, in your oven and on your table. A bed, with nice sheets, and if they’re not so nice, there’s at least a blanket to keep you tucked in, and if not, there may even be someone next to you who doesn’t need to assure you that they’ll be there tomorrow because you know they will.  _

_ But there’s no such thing as home anymore. Not when you’re dead. _

_ Dramatics aside, I should say that I don’t really miss my old home. I barely think of it. Of my shoes by the door, my waffle machine, the toilet flush that always gave me a hard time in the morning. _

_ I sure as hell don’t miss Adam-- _

“Who’s Adam?” Keith demanded in a harsh tone he couldn’t control, clearing his throat right after instead of voicing an apology.

Across from him, crossed legged in ripped jeans and leather jacket, sat the first vampire he had ever met. Shiro, he said his name was, and he was nothing like the stereotypical Dracula pop culture prepared anyone for. Any other night, he could be just some ripped hot dude at the door of a night club, but at that moment, he was the only person who could help Keith.

“You wanted to know more about us, isn’t that right, Fledgling?” 

“Yes--”

“Then keep reading,” each syllable was a sharp reminder for Keith to know his place; he didn’t yet, in fact, but he was about to learn it, “Adam is... besides the point. Carry on.”

Keith’s tongue weighed on his mouth as he tried to move it around the words he whispered, the journal in his hands a fountain of knowledge. Everyone around him in this new version of life seemed to know more about being a vampire than he did, so he ought to take in whatever he could if survival was in order.

_ If anything comes close to being home any more, it’s the Haven. More of a hideout than a place of comfort, a secret location where you can retreat to during daylight or work from during the night. _

_ As I’ve learned so far, a haven can range from a luxury penthouse downtown to a sleeping bag under the bridge, so long as, by necessity, the location remains a secret. _

_ Your new “home” should be your private domain where maybe, and just  _ ** _maybe_ ** _ , you can be safe. _

“So…” Keith concluded, closing the journal after the first entry was done being read. “Basically, I need to find a place to stay.”

“That’s correct,” Shiro peeked at his wrist, and the vague silver glistening gave Keith the idea that he was checking the time. “Dawn is in approximately forty minutes, so we’ll have to leave the search for tomorrow night. It’s been a long night for you, so you may stay here.”

“With you?”

He smiled, and there was nothing warm in that room, or in that whole fucked up night, but that smile, “In the vicinity, yes. There’s a room I’ve been using as some sort of study. It has a couch that should fix you up for the day.”

Keith was instructed to follow Shiro down the hall, old and time-dried carpet practically cracking under his boots, faded portraits just barely hanging on the wallpaper-stripped walls. Said study was the first door to the left and, inside, a mess of manuscripts and books towered over what should be a table or a desk, a couch against the wall, the windows sealed tightly with layers of cardboard and strong cable tape.

His hand, fingerless glove, rested on the cardboard. It felt cold like everything else did. He didn’t suppose he could go out in the morning, not anymore, but he refrained from asking futile questions.

“Night begins at nine,” Shiro said, tucking a few of the papers and a book under his arm, “I’ll knock on your door to wake you up, so sleep as much as you can until then. We’ve much to do. Alright?”

“Yeah…”

“There’s a blanket on the sofa, though it won’t do you much about the cold. You’ll get used to it in time. You definitely won’t need the bathroom either, but that’s two doors down if you want to find out by yourself. About hunger, you should be good for a couple of days at least. So if that’s all, I’ll be on my way.”

“Shiro?”

“Yes?”

Nearly twenty-four hours ago, Keith wasn’t aware of this parallel reality; a world that functioned at night, fueled and ruled by creatures he had only read about in comic books or seen in movies.

Twenty-four hours ago, his week-day alarm was about to go off. He would go for a jog, come back home to shower and get ready for classes. Pass by the  _ Lion’s Caffe _ on the way to campus for a latte and a toast. Later in the evening, he would maybe make use of his UberEats promotion code, which was about to expire, and order himself some junk. Catch up on homework, play some videogames or read a book and feel the weight of the day tiring him enough to make him go to bed.

Yet again, twenty-four hours ago, he wasn’t dead.

“Uh. I mean. I guess… Thanks?” He staggered when he saw the other man lift an eyebrow, “I know that weird woman kinda pinned me on you, and you probably have more… vampire things to attend to, like, I don’t know, drink blood and avoid garlic--”

“Keith,” the sharpness of that voice ought to be criminal, attempted murder with a knife on his throat. “It’s my pleasure to help. Plus, you’re not staying for free; I intend to make you pay for your stay. I’ll tell you more about that tomorrow. For now… Rest.”

In a cold, strange room, in the distance between the sunproof window and the door where the other man stood, Keith found a hint of comfort he didn’t expect. He had so many questions he couldn’t work his tongue around them, a type of exhaustion he hadn’t felt before taking over him.

_ Rest _ , Shiro had said. And he had said it with a spell. The door closed, and his body immediately slumped down on the couch.

_ Rest… Yes, he could use some of that. _


	2. Sun

It was with three consecutive knocks on the door that Keith woke up. Not particularly boisterous, just hanging on the fine line between respectful and loud enough to be heard. While he did feel somewhat rested, the near pitch darkness around him made him automatically assume it was still too early in the morning and he had had very little sleep, with some more precious hours to go. 

“Evening, Keith.”

_ Ah yes _ . The morning was long gone, and the new domain was the night. 

He was almost expecting to wake up in his mess of a bedroom rather than a workaholic’s home office; his roommate would have breakfast ready and would listen and mock the twisted, sick dream he had had about being a vampir--

_ No. We’re not doing that.  _ The word felt unreal, still.

He had never been one to delay the pain of rolling out of bed (especially with someone waiting for him just outside the room) but from the second his eyes flickered awake, he couldn’t bring himself to close them any longer. As if he had woken up from a supernatural coma and his body refused to remain in repose after so long. Although he didn’t feel particularly energetic, he wasn’t going to get any more sleep either. He sat up on the couch, finding that his eyes adjusted fairly quickly to the darkness, and sought his boots, quickly slipping them on and tying them.

“How are you feeling?” He heard Shiro’s voice from the hall, all patience and gentle insistence.

Keith considered being honest, but before he could mentally vote on the matter, he answered, “Yeah, ’m holding up.”

Was that really a lie? He  _ was _ doing surprisingly well, all things considering. Only God knew how he managed to sleep so instantly when he had more than a million doubts filling his head about where the night would take him, if anywhere at all--

His hand hovered the doorknob, inert, unmoving. How  _ had _ he fallen asleep?

It seemed fairly impossible that he would have slept so soundly on the early morning after someone told him he had  _ died, _ after he didn’t fucking remember a thing, and after being exposed to a whole new society, parallel to the reality he knew, hidden in plain sight. The night he had learned that some fairy tales had a pinch of truth to them and that he was deeper into the fable than he ever dared to guess, and there was even more to come.

The last thing he remembered was Shiro’s voice, soothing, deep, tender, inviting him to some other plane of reality where he would willingly oblige to whatever was asked of him. Were... vampires capable of some type of mind-control?

Shiro spoke again, respecting the boundary created by the door that separated them. “I can answer all your questions, but you’d have to open the door.”

“Stop that!” Keith snapped, pulling the door open with a swing, a frown darkening his features.

Shiro stared at him, shoulder against the doorframe, and his smile felt a little like needles to look at. All of him was a pain, a twinge in the chest, a hand holding him from the back of his hand and metaphorically incapacitating him of proper speech or action. The scar across his nose gave him yet another layer of mystery making Keith holding the breath he no longer had the need to take. The streak of white hair would’ve made anyone else look comical or ridiculous, but not him, not someone with a jaw so perfectly chiselled by the hands of gods. An aura of power, but no dominance. Of knowledge, but not manipulation. The man before him could have been many things, but there were no ill intentions behind those tempestuous grey eyes.

Or so did Keith’s gut say, and taking that for what it was worth, it wasn’t often correct.

“... How did you do it?” He glared, “Is it mind-reading?”

“No, I can’t know what you’re thinking,” Shiro said with sincerity, “If I wanted to - which I don’t - I could shape your thinking to my decree, but this is what you could call empathy. I remember being where you are. A newly turned fledgeling, lost, helpless, completely clueless about this new world.”

_ Don’t patronize me. _

“Did you force me to sleep?”

A sigh. “... I’m sorry. It was inappropriate of me. I just needed you to stay put for the first night. Let me promise you right now that I’ll never use a command on you again.”

“How can I trust you?” He countered, “Doesn’t mind-control instantly devalue a promise?”

“Look.” Shiro stepped forward, wooden floor creaking under the footstep of six foot four inches of a man towering over Keith. There was no intent or success to intimidate, only the desire to be heard. Understood. “I never asked to be turned, and I know you didn’t either. You didn’t want any of this, but right now, the only person who knows more than you, and is willing to help you, is me.”

Despite the anger bubbling the pit of his stomach, Keith would have to agree with that, and it didn’t take a sharp sense of survival to know it was true. Dependency… however temporary, it still disturbed him. But for the time being, it was his only viable option. “... Fine. Let me grab my jacket.” 

It remained to be seen if Shiro could be trusted; Keith would be on his guard.

* * *

Shiro led the way and Keith walked beside him, even if he had to throw a larger stride to keep up. In a clearer mind than when he had first arrived at Shiro’s haven, he gathered that the place could have been an old cinema or something of the sort, years if not centuries ago. The carpet under his boots must have been violet at some point, leading to the auditoriums and connecting the carpet to the upper floor, towards the room he knew as a study and the yet incognito doors. Nineteen twenties, perhaps? Maybe not that far back, but the state of the place was a shame; walls were vandalized, the floor carpet cracked, dust gathered in every possible corner.

Looking up, once at the base of the central stairwell, Keith’s lips parted in surprise, eyes widening.

_ It was no cinema. _

The dome above them in the atrium was an astral map of the solar system, carved with every known constellation, planets, orbits, meteors, asteroids, stars. The projection was still on even though there were cracks on the ceiling, a slow, heavy movement mimicking that of the Earth and immersing the viewer into a cosmic plunging.

Keith had always found a little comfort in the unknown Universe. And it was the biggest of stars that caught Keith’s attention. The star whose warmth he’d never feel again. 

That realization diminished him, he thought. Something so futile, taken for granted, and now he'd miss it for how ever long he'd stay alive.

“Keith. Don’t dawdle,” Shiro rushed, already from the other end of the hall, “We have a lot to do until  _ pre-ci-se-ly _ ,” While walking, the elder set an alarm on his silver wristwatch as he dictated the syllables, “six hundred twenty-three hours, including some visits to a couple of apartments I found for you, deliver a few documents downtown and a meetup later.”

“We’re going to open houses in the middle of the night? Nothing weird about that.”

It wouldn't be the weirdest thing to find some real estate that worked overnights. Shiro held the door open for him, a car parked just outside.

“I’ll warn you now that they’re not luxury apartments, Keith, just potential places where you can find some sort of shelter. The least you like it, the better, honestly, because that means other people won’t want to be there either.”

He got into the car - which completely countered the look of the cryptic building with the superb paint job alone - and they drove. Mostly in silence if not for the hiccups of a badly tuned radio station.

It would be miles of arid desert road - maybe leading somewhere, maybe not - the scape so standardly similar to the canyons and dunes he had gotten used to exploring while growing up, but so different at the same time. Maybe because the ground didn’t radiate heat or maybe because the moon was the silent witness that coated the hills in silver lights, but the Arizonian desert he could’ve called home at some point was not the same without the gold of the sun.

_ What the  _ ** _fuck_ ** _ had happened? _

Keith’s life had gone from an unbounded race until the sun went down to the polar opposite of chasing down to the very last second of dawn. Maybe there was another form of sunshine elsewhere.

Unaware, Keith thought of Shiro and imagined that there was a little sunshine to be found there too.


	3. Vamily

Of all the things they could talk about during the hour-long ride to the city, it was the fact that Shiro lived in a fucking planetarium that made them laugh a little.

“You just happened to come across it? Empty? Just waiting for a random vampire to claim it?”

“I’m going to stop you right there, because first of all, the word “vampire” is a little… rude, in our society. Among us, we prefer the word  _ Kindred _ .”

“Kindred,” Keith repeated, thinking on the word and reflecting on it. It sounded better in his head than  _ vampire _ or  _ Dracula _ . “Alright. But why the planetarium?”

Shiro seemed to be measuring his words carefully, silently chewing them around his mouth. Was it a painful memory? Something he didn’t want to talk about? Keith wondered if he’d be fabricating a lie to tell, but decided that he would rather not hear it than force anything out of Shiro.

“If that ain’t goals,” Keith laughed shyly, “I’ve always been attracted to the cosmos, for some reason. My Pop and I used to sit on the back of his truck at night and look at the stars together, with blankets, some cookies he’d bake and all. He’d have a name for every single star out there and I would be so fascinated with it. I thought he was making them up at the time.”

“Used to?” Shiro questioned, keeping his eyes on the poorly lit road, even though he didn’t have to. He already knew the answer anyway.

“He passed away when I was ten.”

Keith had always thought he would meet his dad again when he died, but things turned out quite differently.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro whispered with the voice of someone who knew what loss was. Sympathetic. Not pitying. Honest. Keith could appreciate that.

“It’s okay. It’s been over a decade now.”

The car came to a gradual stop, the engine silenced. Shiro’s face looked grim, a burden in what he was about to say. “Do you have any more family, Keith?”

“No-”

He pressed further, “Girlfriend, boyfriend? Friends?”

“I guess there’s my roommate...? Why? What’s this about?”

Silence without the rhythm of a heartbeat to focus on was even more maddening. It made Keith feel a little cornered, with no excuse to look away from Shiro’s steely eyes, or the veins in his hand as he gripped the wheel or the stillness of his lips. 

The awkwardness was shaken away with the beeping of a cellphone. The sound came from Shiro’s pocket and he was quick to reach for it and answer the phone call.

“Allura?”

The name rang a bell on the back of Keith’s mind.

_ “Shiro~!” _ Keith heard the sing-song greeting erupt from the device pressed against Shiro’s ear. If not by the voice and thick accent, then the topic of their conversation made Keith think of a woman with impossibly white hair and starlit eyes. Why was she so familiar…?

_ Lance.  _ His roommate - and arguably a friend as well - came to mind. The dumbass had photos of the woman on his phone, the wall of his room, and he didn’t dare to guess where else, he followed her on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook and never, ever, shut up about her.  _ She’s so gorgeous, perfect, talented-- Keith, I think I’m in love with a pop star. And guess who’s coming with me to Allura’s meet and greet?! That’s right, buddy, you are!  _

A sharp pain crossed through Keith’s forehead and he winced. Shiro’s hand came to rest on his knee and a mouthed  _ “you alright?” _ was grounding enough to calm the ache. He nodded.

This Allura... She was a vampire too. As far as he could remember, she had been the one to make the call to throw Keith under Shiro’s wing. Who was she, and why was she in charge? Why did Shiro obey her? The hierarchy of the night was something he wasn’t quite familiar with, but he didn’t look forward to many more rules. And if she was Kindred, why was Lance aware of her existence?!

_ “... He’s there with you?” _ Her voice lowered, not as a whisper, but with severity. It beat him as to why. Did his existence bother her altogether? It wasn’t like he had been planning to cross paths with her, and he would probably still be alive - and human, for that matter - if he hadn’t.

“Yeah, we’re going to look at some spots for him to stay at.”

_ “Tell you what. Why don’t you two come over right now? There’s a… complication. I need your assistance. In return, I’ll pull some strings to find your boy a haven downtown.” _

She hadn’t seemed as nice the first time around.

“Something to do with last night?” Shiro inquired.

_ “Precisely. Thus the urgency.” _

Shiro glanced at Keith as if seeking for agreement but found nothing besides a confused frown and a shrug. He complied nonetheless and the call ended with a “see you soon” from both sides.

“What happened?” Keith asked. The car came alive again with the turn of a key, and they were back on the road, no answer granted. “I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark, you know?”

“Not even I am entirely sure of what’s going on,” Shiro finally admitted, “If I knew anything else, I’d tell you. But what I’m guessing is that she may have some clue about who attacked during her concert last night. And that means… we may find out who turned  _ you _ .”

Keith mulled over those words in an attempt to access the lost pieces of his memory. If he ever came to unlock the truth, then God forbid, he would do something about it. Kindred or not, Keith would make sure they would physically regret doing whatever they had done with him. 

Hopefully, he would get his chance at revenge.

“... This Allura. Who is she?”

“I’m sure you realized by now, she’s Kindred as well,” They drove past a sign that indicated the city gates were just a few miles away. “A  _ Toreador _ , with an inclination towards the arts, glamour and spotlights. She’s the Primogen of her clan, which means she was voted to represent the clan before the Camarilla. And… I just spoke complete gibberish to you, didn’t I?” He laughed, and Keith did too. The cityscape approached. “The shortest version with all that matters, it’s that she’s been around for longer than any other I’ve met so far. She took me in when I was too muddled to even realize what had happened to me. She… really saved my ass.”

“Like family,” Keith added. Shiro only concurred.

“That’s exactly what she is.”


	4. Humanity

Even in the distance, the city looked darker than Keith remembered. Maybe because he was used to the post office, the banks and coffee shops being open, but the perspective of the night was a little different. The people who weren’t resting were out at some bars and clubs downtown or were already drunk enough to decide that the best thing to make the night an unforgettable one was to get a tattoo in that creepy looking tattoo parlour with questionable hygiene maintenance. 

At night, the streets belonged to the erring, the night owls and the whores.

And of course, as he recently had come to discover, to the vampires too.

They stopped when the sand became asphalt, in front of what could very well be  _ cul-de-sac _ of multimillionaire mansions, just before entering the town; that was when Keith realized, for no particular reason, that he hadn’t put on his seatbelt. Neither had Shiro, but he supposed that didn’t really mean anything, and not just because the desert roads were empty or because Shiro’s driving had been fairly loyal to the speed limit. 

A rush came up his throat and back down to his gut. What were the consequences? Where was the line drawn, now that death wasn’t a fear? 

Was he… immortal?

“Easy there, tiger,” Shiro chuckled, “You’re getting pretty excited.”

“You promised you wouldn’t read my mind.”

“I didn’t read your mind. You can’t blame me for reading you when you’re an open book. 

Keith pursed his lips slightly, a question unasked hanging from his mouth.

“We…  _ sense _ each other. We’re sensitive to the motions of blood. I can tell if you’re scared, if you’re horny, if you’re realizing that you’re indestructible and nothing can ever stand against you-”

“Well, am I?” It wasn’t a shrug that Keith expected as an answer. 

“That I don’t know. I’ve never seen or heard of any Kindred dying of old age or natural causes. Sunlight is the end of you; same with fire. If you’re beaten to a pulp in all the right places, you may not make it.”

“Not even a wooden stake to the heart?”

“You think that wouldn’t hurt any human too? Actually, it only induces you in a deep sleep, a kind of temporary coma. I had to do that when I found you.”

Keith tugged at the collar of his own shirt, peeking down at his scarless chest.

“You do heal much faster. You run faster, jump higher, scream louder, hear better, your scent is sharper, you’re physically stronger.”

“Sounds pretty immortal, if you ask me,” the corner of Keith’s mouth perked into a small smirk.

“Don’t get too excited. That’s the most common mistake fledgelings make, and that tends to cut their so coveted immortality short.”

“I won’t-”

“-by  _ me _ , if I have to.”

If Keith’s body wasn’t already cold, the blood that was left in him would have frozen up. Was Shiro  _ threatening _ him? Would he really simply… kill him? He would be dumb to believe they had  _ bonded _ , or something over the past twenty-four hours, but it never crossed his mind to fear a backstab. What was he supposed to do if Shiro was planning to do it? Who could he trust? What was the truth and what was the lie, before the great divide between life and death?! Shiro’s eyes gleamed with murderous intent, sharper than a razor blade.

It  _ could _ cut.

“You feel that?”

“... Huh?”

“The sensation that I’m suddenly hostile. That’s your survival instinct. Your radar, your gut feeling. That’s similar to what I felt just now, that you were silently boasting about how you’re unbeatable. You have to be careful with the signals you emit. Not all Kindred are willing to take that as the rookie mistake it is, and won’t accept it as anything less than a challenge.”

Shiro reached for his leather jacket from the backseat, his face momentarily coming a mere inch away from Keith’s. When their eyes met, the elder smiled. “I won’t kill you, but you can’t give me reasons to have no other choice. Come on. Allura’s is right ahead.”

Keith was urged out of the car, slamming the door a little too hard on accident. Shiro didn’t mind it, or at least made no comment in that regard, and walked around the car, his palm harmlessly coming to rest on Keith’s lower back. The outskirts smelled a little like sewage, disguised with the grass that adorned the entrance gardens of the luxury manors. Even without being inside just yet, Keith could already guess how breathtaking the view must be from the balcony; a simple town, with little to see, would look better from the distance. Like a paper city in an architectural mockup.

The hand on his back was guiding him, but not forcing him onwards. In fact, they both seemed to be walking rather leisurely, with no hurry to be anywhere, but neither of them were particularly keen on admitting the stonework on the fancy decorative fountain in the middle of the patio. As if both of them knew they would wish to come back to that moment, and wish they could have had a little longer to spare. 

“Have you ever killed a fledgeling?”

“I have.” No hesitation.

They reached the porch, still dragging their boots a little, and stood there, a bit too close but not close enough in some form. “Because they killed humans?”

“Or committed other felonies, yes.”

“That’s fucking insane. Don’t you like, kill people? When you… get their blood?”

“No, of course not.” Shiro rang the bell, a guttural sound echoing on the whole house. “What do you think we are, _ animals _ ? We only take what we need from a vessel and if we take more than that, it is punishable through our laws. But Keith. Listen to me.”

Keith was becoming a little too cosy with Shiro’s hand on him; it squeezed his shoulder, a plea for their eyes to meet. When they did, Keith swallowed in dry. He hoped Allura was busy on the opposite wing of the house, or just momentarily deaf, because he wouldn’t mind talking more with Shiro; hear whatever he had to say about everything or nothing at all. 

“I asked you about your family and friends earlier,” Keith nodded before Shiro continued, “They’ll assume you disappeared.”

“Yeah, I guess I can just drive by our apartment and let Lance know I won’t be coming around anymore.”

“No, Keith… You have to let everything go. Roommates, co-workers, lovers… It has to end, for their own sake.”

“Uh, what?” It wasn’t like he had never thought of dumping Lance and never talk to him again; hell, that was his favourite late-night fantasy. The guy was annoying, never did the dishes and still complained when Keith forgot to replace the toilet paper roll in the bathroom. But if Keith had anyone who was always there, no matter what, for good and for worse, it’d be Lance.

What would he think if he were to vanish simply…?

“I know this is a lot to ask. It’s no easy task, but not every one of us is kind, and unfortunately, most of us are vividly aware that the lowest yet most powerful blow you can throw at someone is by attacking their loved ones. They’re grounding to your emotions, and they’re your first go-to thought when you’re about to snap.”

If at least some of the comic book tales were true, then Keith would very likely… stay the same. His face, his youth, it would be retained throughout millennia to come, if his cards were played right. Lance, on the other hand… he would age; he would probably meet a very unlucky girl who would fall in love for his idiotic face and they’d grow old together, with three or four kids, and then seven or eight grandkids, and he would die with the same arrogant smirk on his face, surrounded by his family.

Keith would never,  _ ever _ have anyone else.

A little jolt on Keith’s shoulder brought his eyes back up to meet Shiro’s.

"Hold on to your Humanity, Keith; that's the only thing that makes us short of a monster."

The door opened.


	5. Camarilla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what do you mean it's not october anymore

It was an excentric redheaded butler with a ridiculous moustache who welcomed them inside - and not the terrifying woman with the snowy hair from the night before. It was a bit of a shock to see the man’s much thinner arms completely envelop Shiro’s frame into a crushing hug like it was nothing. 

“Coran!” Shiro’s laughter was a little bit magical, but Keith ignored that line of thought to memorize the butler’s name. For no reason, really, since the man proceeded to grab his hand and introduce himself.

“Name is Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe! Enchanted to meet you, Keith! I’ve heard so much about you!” He was glad to be greeted with only an overly excited handshake; he wasn’t sure how he would deal if he had to receive the hug treatment. Was he Kindred as well? With an absent sniff of the air, Keith somehow knew the answer to that question;  _ not quite undead, but not human either _ . “Come on now, don’t dawdle! The Princess awaits you both!”

They followed Coran, Shiro throwing amused glances Keith’s way.

Allura’s manor looked as expensive on the inside as it did from the outside; from the well-kept gardens in the front to the alabaster stone on the porch to the luxurious portraits hanging on the walls, the sculptures, the  _ ballroom, wow _ . Keith had never seen a ballroom in his life, not outside of Disney movies, and he was left to wonder if vampires threw parties. Perhaps themed masquerades, throwbacks to their early days. In Medieval age. 

He wished he could voice that joke without sounding offensive.

After what could’ve almost been a guided tour, Coran bowed at them both, an absurdly perfect ninety-degree angle. “She is in her study, down the hall.”

“Thank you, Coran,” Shiro’s hand rested at the end of Keith’s back and he was growing quite comfortable to the touch, enough to barely notice it until the other urged him inside a room. “Over here.”

It was the only open door on the white corridor, a single division that could very well match the size of his apartment in town. He mentally traced the lines that would approximately limit his room, Lance’s room, the area they used as both the kitchen and the living room, the bathroom… Yeah, Allura’s “study” alone was enough to cover the whole damn apartment and a tad bit more. On the walls, framed records of gold and silver reflected the ceiling lights, representing Allura’s musical hits, some awards on a showcase. Like Shiro, she too had an immensity of books, and Keith imagined that they could trade some, on occasion. Directly by the window, a white wood desk was centred, a fluffy carpet beneath it, and Allura’s long finger raised to silence their entrance.

Allura held the telephone between her cheek and shoulder, nodding and making sounds of agreement to whoever was on the other side. “Hm, hm! Of course, darling! Wouldn’t miss it!” 

Shiro sat on the armchair and urged Keith to sit across from him and remain silent until the call ended. It crossed his mind that she didn’t seem nearly as deadly as when they first met; behind a desk, her heels on the table, pursing her lips and fidgeting with her overly-worked long gel nails, she almost looked human; like the pop singer his roommate, Lance, crushed on  _ hard _ . The idea that this world worked in parallel with everything he had known seemed rather unthinkable. But there he was, inside the ginormous mansion of a famous singer, who made a living off her voice, her television commercials and her clothesline, whose big secret was her diet: exclusively,  _ blood _ .

If only Lance knew, the coward.

“Alright,” Allura sighed after a short while, putting the telephone down in its housing. “Good news or bad news first?”

Keith looked at Shiro, who merely shrugged and he imitated the gesture, “The good ones, I guess?”

“The good news is that there’s only  _ one _ bad news, and the bad news is that the bad news can very easily escalate into a collection of very bad news.”

“Oh no,” Shiro almost laughed. “I take it that was our illustrious Prince on the phone?”

“That was indeed the Prince. Worse than receiving a call from him, is to receive an invitation.” 

“Then just turn the invitation down?” Keith provided, unprompted but not regretting it. Whoever this Prince was, no one had the right to force anyone to do anything at all.

_ No? _

“No, Keith, sweetheart, you don’t understand,” Allura flopped down on the armrest of the sofa Shiro sat on, her arm dramatically coming to curl around his shoulders with a familiarity that made Keith itchy. 

_ Real itchy. _

“The Prince doesn’t just _ invite _ you; he politely demands that you show up, lest you’d want to be socially ostracized, or left out in the sun to die. Depends on his mood.”

“Sometimes it’s both,” Shiro said.

“Either way, he’s got the power, we must only obey.” Allura’s long fingernails massaged Shiro’s scalp in a circular motion, a loose gesture that had him closing his eyes and leaning against the touch. Keith decided it was easier to not look at how close they were, eyes dropping to the sleeves of his jacket.

_ What’s her deal, anyway. _

“Sounds like a waste of time; if you don’t wanna go, then don’t, right?” It seemed pretty simple in Keith’s head. Were it up to him, he wouldn’t even pick up the phone if he knew who the caller was and had some sort of distaste for them. 

“ _ He’s cute _ ,” Allura dropped her head to whisper at Shiro, but Keith’s ears turned warm only when Shiro nodded. “Unfortunately that is not an option.”

Shiro opened one eye. “Does this mean we have to dress up?”

“Precisely,” Allura chirped, “and I’m going to have to go buy something new, don’t want the Prince as much as  _ dreaming _ I’ve worn the same dress twice.”

“Preposterous,” Shiro mocked, pulling the throw pillow from his back to hug it instead.

“I call it a waste, really, but social pressures are just like that. Let’s go shopping, boys!”

* * *

It felt a little like a demotion to be moved to the backseat - not that shotgun would give him an advantage over the conversation or the situation altogether, since Shiro and Allura were heavily engaged in an argument regarding Keith but leaving him out of it - but he just kinda enjoyed being next to Shiro.

_ Why? _

Maybe God had an honest answer to that because Keith sure didn’t. He leaned back, disregarding the need for a seatbelt, boot supported on the passenger’s seat buckle.

Allura swiped on her smartphone. “Look, they have a studio downtown.”

Shiro shook his head, “I’m guessing it’s too close to his college, he may get recognized.”

“Hmm… Oh! There’s a place above the pawnshop,” Allura suggested and Shiro all but hissed.

“Are you kidding me? Might as well send him to the homeless under the bridge, he’d be safer there.”

“Well, if you’re so determined to protect him, have him staying with you,” Keith’s eyes darted from one to the other, delaying on Shiro’s reflection on the rearview mirror. He had a short, private smile, lips pursed inwards. It was Allura who spoke again, giggles hanging from her lips, “Oh,  _ of bloody course _ , that’s what you wanted, you filthy  _ scoundrel _ !”

“Shut up, Allura. Let Keith decide.”

“I want to stay with Shiro.” The answer was so immediate that the silence hung on for a little too long to be comfortable. If not for some pebbles under the car, it would be as if someone had died. But it was true, Keith didn’t exactly feel ready to be tossed back into the city without even learning the basics about his new… circumstances. That and… Shiro was the closest to a friend he had in this undead world. 

_ Yeah. That must have been his reasoning. _

“I mean. If… that’s okay with Shiro.”

The smile was hard to miss, contagious even for the corner of Keith’s mouth. “That’s fine by me.”

“Very well, all the less trouble to find a place for our dearest fledgeling,” Allura leaned on her window, feeling the desert wind run through her hair, “You do need to get yourself a bit of-”

“ _ ALLURA. _ ” Shiro interrupted her like a reprehensive father, a slap on her bare arm.

Entering the city again made Keith feel like an outsider. He retreated into his hood, pretending that he didn’t recognize the intersections of the streets, the businesses that closed at eleven, the reasonable and the shitty diners. He very much ignored the fact that they entered an underground parking lot, the colour code ranging from yellow to purple the further they went down. Shiro drove down to the empty floor where no one seemed to be aware of its existence, let alone park there. It felt like a private parking spot, surrounded by nothing but old cars, true dinosaurs of the automobile history, displayed in secret, like a mystery museum. 

“Is it alright to just… go into the mall?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Allura interjected, pulling down the sun visor to use the imbued mirror to check if her make-up was spot on. Keith would say so, but she still grabbed her eyeliner to extend her cat-eye with practised ease.

“I mean. We’re not… exactly alive.” Wasn’t it  _ obvious? _

“The mall is closing in less than ten minutes,” Shiro turned on the driver’s seat so he could look at Keith, a patient smile traced on his lips. “Once everyone leaves, we make use of… an arrangement, per se. From eleven PM to five AM, the mall belongs to our kind. Provided we pay for whatever we buy, of course. Theft is still looked down upon and punishable by our laws.”

Keith nodded, trying not to imagine the number of times he’d left college late at night and walked by the mall on his way home, oblivious of the shopping sprees going on behind the heavy locks and metallic grids that blocked the entrance. 

_ Fuck, he was getting nauseous. _

Allura left the vehicle first, stretching and fixing her high waist denim skirt around the hem. Shiro held the door open for Keith, extending his hand. “Come with me. I know just what you need.”

* * *

As expected, the shopping mall was empty, very few lights kept on for the night. It felt like a completely different place for Keith, who had only seen it during its most active times: lunch period and Christmas Eves. No one roamed the facilities, for one, if not for the single night guard who simply nodded at the sight of Shiro and Allura, squinting at the unknown figure who had walked in with them.

“He’s a newbie I’m looking after,” Shiro explained from upstairs, even though it didn’t concern the man. He nodded yet again and kept walking, undoubtedly to turn the lights back on.

“Rather cranky tonight, isn’t he?” Allura smiled and walked with purpose towards the escalator with her eyes set on one of the shops - the one with gorgeous designer gowns on the lower floor. “You boys go get your suits and meet me later to help me choose mine!”

Shiro didn’t let Keith sit on it, tugging on his arm towards a shop Keith would never go in by himself - eighty per cent due to the price range of the clothing and the remaining twenty just because fancy suits were not his style.

“Why is this so important?” He asked as Shiro carded through a few exposed shirts, trying to guess Keith’s size and accurately figuring it out.

“To put it as simple as possible,” Shiro held a shirt in front of Keith, inspecting the reflection on the tall mirror, and deciding against it; blue wasn’t Keith’s colour, “Our society has several sects, though most of our Kind find it in their best interest to follow a particular one: the  _ Camarilla _ . The Camarilla is ruled by a Prince - that’s Lotor, as of the past few years.”

“What does that have to do with me? Or you… Can’t Allura just go? A party seems to be her ideal way to pass time.”

“I wish we had a choice in the matter, but your presence is required. You owe Lotor an introduction. For starters, you were turned clandestinely, without the Prince’s consent; Allura had the duty to kill the one who turned you, and you too. But… I vouched for you.” Shiro pursed his lips for a second, as if in deep thought. Keith wondered what the price Shiro would have to pay if stopping an execution was a punishable act by itself. “I... don’t think you should die because of someone else’s mistake.”

Keith blinked slowly and Shiro laughed. “Yes, you died anyway, but you know what I meant.”

The third - and hopefully last - choice of a shirt was plain white, one that would look tight and right on Keith, and Shiro gave it to him to hold. “That one, and… These pants. Go into the fitting room while I find you a blazer.”

He hesitantly did as he was told, closing the drapes behind him and freeing himself of the layers of clothing that seemed to have become one with him. He morbidly considered that those had been the clothes he had died in and suddenly craved for a shower. A sniff near his armpit confirmed that he didn’t really smell or anything, but for some reason, he just felt  _ filthy _ . 

“And as I was saying,” Shiro proceeded, delivering Keith a velvety red blazer. “The Camarilla enforces certain mandments, which we refer to as the  _ Masquerade _ .” 

“The  _ Masquerade _ ? Like laws?” Keith might have imagined it, but he felt Shiro’s eyes delaying on his bare legs. He tried not to mind it, after checking over his shoulder that the curtain was closed again, ears burning at the thought.

“Precisely. Those laws involve keeping our society a secret; thus why you didn’t know anything about us until last night. The Camarilla’s duty is to make sure that the growing mortal masses are just as unaware of us as you were, and punish those of our Kind who disregard the  _ Masquerade _ .” 

It was only a few moments later, with Shiro absently tapping his foot, that Keith came out of the fitting room, tailored suit embracing the shape of his waist, the pants just the right size to make him feel good.

At the view, Shiro was silent for what seemed to be a long time, and Keith was momentarily concerned. “What do you think?” He looked down at himself, wondering if he messed up the buttons.

“Uh? Yeah, that’s… That looks good on you,” Shiro’s tongue staggered, a convulsion of stuttered words and a loose hand gesture. “Yeah, we’ll definitely take that one.”

“I should probably mention I can’t afford these?” Keith grimaced awkwardly. Hell, he had never as much as tried on any piece of clothing with a price tag above three digits; the blazer alone was as expensive as one year worth of student fees at his college.

“Don’t worry about that,” Shiro winked before letting out a soft “oh”. He ran across the store and returned with a black tie, hooking it around Keith’s neck and nimbly tying it with the practice of someone who had been doing it for a very long time. Keith’s eyes met titanium coloured ones and something dislocated inside his own chest. He didn’t need to breathe anymore, but he forgot to nonetheless, teeth sinking into his lower lip as the knot and Shiro’s knuckles met the Adam’s apple of his throat.

“Perfect,” said Shiro in a private, low voice, and Keith wanted to stab himself for thinking that word could be meant for him and not his new suit.


	6. Sire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which Keith meets the Prince of the Camarilla and decides right off the bat that he hates him.

They left the mall an hour later in a bit of a hurry, much to Keith’s surprise. 

Suddenly Allura  ―  who had gotten herself into a sleeveless dress worthy of a goddess, sparkly dusty pink from her breasts down to her ankles, mermaid style; hair picked up into a bun and decorated with little flowers and some loose strands framing her face ( _ where the hell had she done that? _ )  ―  had decided that they would be late if they didn’t leave immediately. 

Shiro was the first to jump up from the comfort of the couch, adjusting his purple tie and following after Allura. Keith walked a few steps behind them, still giddy about the past few minutes.

He had allowed himself to sit down and relax against one of the couches in the waiting area and had almost forgotten about their “compromise” to some fancy dude’s gallery exhibition. He had been enjoying the light-hearted conversation he and Shiro were having, a trade of questions and answers regarding Keith’s condition and the possibilities of his future as Kindred; it barely felt like a curse, for a while, because Shiro assured him (without actively saying so) that he’d be with him for as long as Keith would have him.

Keith very much appreciated that thought.

“Come on now, Keith,” Allura rushed, holding the door to the back seat open for him, jumping on her heels like a child, “We’ve places to be!”

The whole trip to the art gallery consisted of warnings and admonishments about this Lotor guy. 

“So I just go up to him and introduce myself?  _ ‘Hi, I’m Keith, I didn’t ask to die but I’d like to keep half-living with your permission?’ _ ”

Allura answered while using a pocket mirror to apply some quick, yet flawless make-up. “Think of him kind of like… a wild animal, some majestic horned beast out of a fairy tale. You’re curious and you want to get closer, but you know better. Not because you could scare the wild animal away but because if it spotted you, you’d be dead on the spot. You have to let it come to you as it pleases because you’ll be fed from his hand and not the other way around.”

“Uh. Sounds like a lovely guy,” Keith’s sarcasm rolled down his tongue like the window on his side. He needed the cool air on his features, he was starting to feel nauseous. Like he was about to meet the President, with all this ceremony.

_ Well, essentially, it was just that. _

“What Allura means,” Shiro laughed, relaxed hand resting on the wheel, “is that you should be careful. Lotor’s  _ not  _ a wild animal, but he’s the one with the power in this game. This meeting will be a little like introducing yourself to the principal, and all you have to do is lower your head and show that you really want to live and that he shouldn’t kill you because you can be useful for him at some point. Make him think he can use you and that you’d be willing to be used.”

Yeah, Keith didn’t like that idea at all. But what choice did he have? It was hard enough to have to face his landlord when the rent payment was behind, let alone offer loyalty to some rando he’d never seen before, who so happened to have the power to terminate his existence.

“... treat him with reverence,” Allura advised, popping her lips to spread out the gloss evenly. Keith realized she had been talking the whole time, but he hadn’t listened. “Lotor likes that.”

“But you don’t need to grovel at his feet. We’ll just explain and expose the situation, and…” he looked over at Keith, eyes lingering on him, and sighed. “Maybe... I’ll do the talking.”

_ “Please,” _ Keith breathed out.

“Don’t worry,” Shiro reached for Keith’s knee, patting him assuringly with a gloved hand. “I’ll be right next to you the whole time.”

What was with Shiro and this constant need to have his hand on Keith? Not like Keith would complain, but in this new world of darkness, growing attached to someone’s touch seemed…  _ dangerous _ .

From the backseat, he noticed how Allura’s eyes remained on Shiro until he saw fit to move his hand back to the wheel. The two Kindred had a silent conversation with their stares alone, and Keith couldn’t make out the theme of their argument, but he could only guess it was nothing good.

After they took a turn, the streets went from deserted to the hot spot of the night, the likes of which Keith had only seen in news reports or on the covers of magazines. There was a carpet leading up to a fancy gallery entrance, flashes from cameras that accompanied the appearance of people Keith didn’t… particularly recognize. Maybe they were famous, or something? Lance would know better than him.

“We’re here,” Shiro announced needlessly, the car sliding to a stop in a secluded alleyway. Allura was the first to step out of the vehicle, her heel meeting cobblestone in rhythmic steps. Keith and Shiro walked with her, her arms linked in theirs, further into the alley.

“Uh. Isn’t the entrance over there?” Keith questioned, looking over his shoulder to where all the lights were. He wouldn’t mind dodging all that attention, he’d actually prefer not to have his mug photographed.

_ He’d prefer not being there at all. _

It was Shiro who shook his head in reply. “Not for us, it’s not. We’re a... different type of VIP.”

A door marked as the “staff entrance” was reserved for the likes of them as well, it seemed. Shiro untangled his arm from Allura’s to hold said door open, and she slid inside first, pulling her new dress up so she wouldn’t trip. 

“Nervous?”

“Uh… Confused, mostly,” Keith admitted, reaching for his neck to loosen the tie a little. That nausea from earlier still pooled in his stomach, an acidic taste in his mouth. “Why do I need this guy to approve of me, or whatever?”

“As I told you… Our society has several rules, and one of them is that you cannot turn any human into Kindred as you see fit; as the ruling Prince, it’s within his rights to grant or deny the kindred of his city the privilege of siring.”

“ _ Siring? _ ”

“Your  _ Sire _ is the vampire who turned you.”

That thought had Keith’s blood boiling silently in his veins, thinking that he had some kind of connection to the monster who killed him, but a deep breath managed to calm him down.

“Since Lotor’s permission wasn’t procured, then the law reserves him the right to terminate your life, and the life of the son of a bitch who turned you. But what we’re trying to do here, is convince him that you didn’t ask for this; it’s not your fault that you find yourself in this situation, but still, you want to do what’s right. And the right thing to do for you, right now, is to find the fucker who turned you and leave him out in the sun to toast.

Keith understood. He did. It wasn’t a matter of revenge, but rather judgement. 

“It’s going to be okay, Keith,” Shiro promised, making him feel a little more at ease, even if just a tiny, itsy bit. It crossed Keith’s mind that maybe he’d be feeling better if Shiro was touching him  ― a hand on his shoulder, or something, a grounding touch that’d guarantee that he was  _ there _ . “It’ll be over sooner than you expect. I know we gave you a little too much information at once, but in the end, you really only have to remember to remain calm. Remember that  _ patience yields focus _ ― ”

“Guys! Hurry!” Allura’s voice demanded from somewhere beyond the darkness in the doorway.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine, Keith. Go on.”

* * *

The exhibited paintings seemed like something out of Lance’s sketchbook, an abstract mess of paint wasting a perfectly good canvas. Not even the art history documentaries he enjoyed watching on YouTube had prepared Keith for the visual language of contemporary abstractionism, but kudos to whoever the artist was. The gallery seemed like an exquisite place to have personal work exposed, and it seemed to attract all types of attention.

Even undead attention. It made Keith wonder; was everyone in there Kindred? It didn’t seem possible, but yet again, not impossible either. Allura was a star, even in the world he knew before, and socializing at an event such as the exhibition seemed to come naturally to her. She blended in perfectly, it would be no surprise that other vampires could do it too. Even Shiro smiled a little too easily to a guy who seemed to be talking about the paintings.

On a second general glance, the people weren’t as interested in the canvases than they were in the sparkling champagne in their glasses or the gourmet snacks being served on platters by eloquent looking waiters who swam through the crowd easily.

All a little too fancy for Keith, who didn’t even know what to do with his hands. Pockets? Too informal. Behind his back? That would make him seem like he worked there, just waiting for someone to ask him where the bathroom was. It was Shiro who solved his dilemma by bringing him a flute full of champagne; not without yet another warning, of course.

“Don’t drink it. Just carry it around and occasionally wet your lips with it.” At Keith’s silent question, he proceeded to explain, voice barely above a whisper, “Even if you were able to hold your liquor in life, your physiology is still in mutation, adjusting, since you were turned only one night ago. You’d want to avoid throwing up all over these paintings, now wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know if people could even tell the difference between the paint and my barf.”

Shiro’s snort made Keith feel like he was drowning, which felt pretty damn good if he were to be honest. Shiro playfully shoved him, smiles still hanging from their lips, when the lights of the room lowered.

It wasn’t hard to figure out who Prince Lotor was. The last one to arrive, as the fashionably late rule so demanded, with light hair, ridiculously straight spine and a suit tailored to perfectly delineate his tall, slim build. His presence demanded applause from everyone present, so Keith forced his hands to clap, as awkward as he felt doing it while holding the flute. 

Once the clapping ceased, Lotor graciously saluted everyone with a half-bow and a smile that bespelled (most of) the crowd.

“Good evening. I am beyond thrilled that you all could make it to this ― ” He introduced the exhibition as the work of a very dear friend of his who couldn’t be present but is likely most grateful that everyone could show up to admire his artwork. He spoke about it like a true connoisseur, and revealed himself to also be the curator for the exhibit. Interesting hobbies these vampires had; nothing too shabby.

At first glance Lotor seemed like a spoiled rich boy with a little too much power in his rotten hands, but who was Keith to judge?

“Once again,” Keith realized he hadn’t been listening to most of the speech, but tried to smile for the last part, “I thank you all for your presence. And please, indulge yourself in these masterpieces.”

Another round of applause, a few pictures here and there  ― Keith noticed how Lotor immediately tugged Allura to his side to pose with like a human-shaped clutch bag,  ― and he proceeded to speak to some individual groups, while having a taste of the champagne himself, arm around the Princess.

How old was Lotor, Keith meditated. Would it be rude to ask Kindred about their age? Would they be offended or proud of having lived that long? He mused that his manners and way of speaking would round the Medieval Age, and left it at that with a silent, personal snort.

It took a very long time for Lotor’s eyes to come to rest on Keith from across the gallery, but it was obvious that he hadn’t just noticed his presence. Once those yellow eyes locked with Keith’s, the Prince made a beeline towards him, a magnetic field twisting at his will to make sure no one would cross his path to break their eye contact. He was a couple of heads taller than Keith, and possibly even taller than Shiro, an aura of power radiating in a rather majestic manner.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Lotor began, accent heavy on his tongue. Was it forced, Keith wondered?

“That’s because we haven’t,” Keith kicked himself in the guts before quickly adding, “Been introduced. Yet.” A pretend sip of champagne, and he was just glad to feel Shiro approaching behind him.

“Lotor, dear,” Allura chimed in with her head lowered in respect, “He’s the one I told you about. Keith.”

“Ah. I see,” Keith didn’t appreciate being looked up and down like that and damn nearly growled, but Shiro’s hand on his shoulder steadied his attitude. He didn’t think that Lotor had picked up on it, but he was already expecting to be proved wrong. The Prince’s eyes pierced through him but he remained standing. “A childe of last night’s incident. Most interesting. Was he the only one?”

“That we’re aware of, Sir, yes,” It was Shiro who replied.

“Most uncommon for an Anarch attack to yield only one Childe.” Lotor inquired as he absentmindedly rubbed his chin. Keith noted how his tone of voice was controlled so that it wouldn’t be overheard by anyone else around them. In the middle of the laughter and comments, it was easy to have such a discussion undetected. “What of the Kindred who turned him?” 

“We’re conducting an investigation in that regard, and by tomorrow’s sundown we ought to have some clearer answers for you, Sir.”

“Hm. So may I ask… What are you doing here, Keith?”

“I assume full responsibility for his ― ”

“I am yet to hear a word from the childe, Shiro,” Lotor’s tongue was sharp as blades, enough to silence Shiro in his wake. All the noise from the gallery, the soft jazz, the giggles, it all became white noise, too distant to be real.

Realizing that he would actually have to talk, Keith stuttered. He felt a little ridiculous, having to beg for his life to a stranger who acted all pompous and powerful when he was really just an aristocrat out of his time. It annoyed him, but thinking of Shiro…

_ Shiro. _

_ Patience yields focus. _

“I uh… I wanna help,” Keith began, tripping a little over his words, “I know I’m not supposed to be like,  _ alive _ , or whatever I am, but I do want to find out who did this to me. If that means I have to relearn how to fit in in this society… Then I don’t mind. I want to learn. And I think Shiro can help me.”

Lotor looked down at Keith with a sense of satisfaction he couldn’t comprehend. “Without a sire, most Childer are doomed to walk the Earth, never knowing their place, their responsibility, and most importantly, the laws they must obey. I am no more a judicate than I am a servant to the Masquerade. Are you suggesting that I ignore the law that binds us all and spare you of an existence you’re yet to learn to dread?”

“I just want to understand. I don’t want to die for someone else’s mistake.”

“I… humbly ask for you to give him an opportunity to help us,” Shiro wasn’t able to remain quiet for long, “His memory may return in time, and give us valuable information that only someone who was physically there would know. He’ll be under my watch at all times. I’ll instruct him in our ways and make him a valuable member in our society.”

Lotor seemed to ponder the decision, gaze altering between Shiro, Keith and briefly Allura, before speaking again, “Have it your way, Shiro. Let no one say I am unsympathetic to the plights and causes of this community.”

If any of them could breathe, they would have been letting out sighs of relief. Keith kind of did, though it came out as a ragged cough than anything else. He felt Shiro’s hand on his back, a silent cheer of  _ “I knew you could do this.” _

“You lot look beyond exhausted,” Lotor smiled  ― and it might have been the widest, creepiest thing Keith had ever seen, “Why don’t you join me in the afterparty I have planned?”

The decision was made for them, and before Keith knew it, the three were in the back seat of an expensive-looking car, being taken somewhere at the command of Lotor.

“That was close,” Allura spoke, long nails tapping the screen of her smartphone as she uploaded a selfie she had taken during the event to her social media. Lance would be all over that one, Keith imagined, likely sneaking into Keith’s bedroom to make use of his printer and get the photograph to join many of the sort he kept on his wall. 

The printer Keith would have no use for anymore. The bedroom he would never walk into again. The roommate he didn’t imagine he would miss, but alas, there he was.

_ Son of a bitch. _

“It’s not over yet,” Shiro’s voice was tense, the tapping of his foot giving away his uncertainty. “This ‘afterparty’ sounds an awful lot like a test.”

“You just have to make sure Keith doesn’t go feral,” Allura giggled, already replying to several comments on Instagram. “Easy peasy.”

Keith allowed the silence to reign, just for long enough to clear his head.

He turned to Shiro, “So… does this make you my Sire now?”

“God, no,” Shiro laughed, in a way that felt private to Keith, “At most, I guess I’m a Guardian. If you fuck up, it’s my fault and I’ll get beheaded, along with you.”

“I’ll definitely try not to fuck up then.”

Shiro’s right arm (why did he only wear one glove, in his right hand? Vampire fashion trends were weird) came to rest around Keith’s shoulder, and he leaned into the vague feeling of warmth.

“I appreciate that, Keith.”

Curse Keith’s curiosity in asking, because that hand on his shoulder left his body just when he asked, “... Do  _ you _ have a sire?”

There was a long pause, with the street lights dragging neon lines in the window on their side, “I most likely do, I just don’t know who he or she is. If I did… Well. Let’s just say they wouldn’t be a problem anymore.”


	7. Feeding

Keith should have known better than to expect tea and biscuits for this “afterparty”. While he was glad to be rid of the sight of the abstract paintings that seemed different every time he looked at them, his ears began buzzing just when they parked in front of what seemed to be a nightclub, laser lights blinding him in blues, whites and purples, music thundering in his ribcage, the noise assaulting his brain with a hammer every thump.

Shiro wasn’t fucking lying when he said his hearing would be improved. God, Keith only wished it had been an overstatement, but they weren’t even inside yet and already he felt like throwing up.

“It’ll become a little easier,” Shiro promised, rubbing his open palm on Keith’s back (he was actually holding him up); even that gesture, that touch, welcome at any other time ―  _ really, truly, any other time  _ ― felt overwhelming and had the fledgeling wincing at it. All of his senses were on high, super sensitivity slaughtering him like a million needles on every single one of his nerves. Through blurred vision, the smells had a feeling, the feelings had a taste and the tastes had a noise that was palpable to his trembling hands. “Just close your eyes, try to steady your inhalation and teach yourself to take it in slower.”

_ That’s gotta be easy to say for a millennial vampire with that long to practice, no?  _

Keith staggered from the car until he found support in an alabaster pillar at the entrance of the club.  _ Oriande _ , the word blinked in purple neon just above him. He might have walked by the place sometimes during his early morning jogs, but had never paid it much mind; the facade interlaced some obvious historical roots and the building’s modern purpose. It had this awesome entrance that reminded him of mythical and ancient temples, colonnades, running water on the sides, but it was always closed during day time. Like many other things that Keith had recently discovered only come alive at night.

“I wasn’t feeling like this before,” he whispered, bent over himself, afraid that if he were to raise the volume of his voice, he would intensify his own headache.

Shiro was just as respectful when he replied, “It should have happened before, to be honest. It’s weird it took this long, but the secondary effects of being turned can last up to a month.” His smile contained understanding, “Not feeling so immortal now, are you?”

“Can we leave?” He begged in vain.

“I’m… afraid not. Not for at least an hour or so. That would be the same as rejecting a direct invitation from―”

“Hang in there, kid,” Lotor mocked as he walked past them to enter the vicinity, a giggling woman Keith recognized from the gallery at his side.  _ Human _ , he was certain. “See you on the other side. Allura?”

At the Prince’s request, Allura flew to his vacant side, pitying Keith with her impossibly blue eyes before going inside with Lotor’s arm around her waist. Fuck that pompous guy; Keith definitely did  **not ** like him.

Keith didn’t know how long it took for him to straighten his back and crack his neck, but Shiro was right there with him the whole time. “Okay… I think I’m alright.”

“You sure?” Shiro removed his hands from the pockets of his high waisted suit pants, adjusting his blazer.  _ Breathtaking, if Keith could spare any.  _ “We can stay out here a while longer. I don’t mind.”

“No, I think I’m good,”  _ the sooner we go in, the faster we’ll be allowed to come out anyway. _

A woman with the physique of a gorilla guarded the entrance, muscled arms crossed over her broad chest, while another, a more slender and shorter one with the longest ponytail Keith had ever seen, checked IDs and stamped the wrists of the guests. White ink in the shape of a lion’s head, to go with the logo of the club.  _ Don’t worry _ , the girl said, in a clearly unamused automated manner, as if she had to say the same words four hundred times a night,  _ it comes off in less than twenty-four hours. _

“Thanks, Ezor. You two have a lovely evening,” Shiro smiled at the girl and the gargoyle and guided Keith inside, with the practised ease of someone who already knew the staff, how many tricky steps were on the entrance, and where to go to to meet his friends. He gently led Keith across the crowd, as close to the wall as they were allowed to with all the drunken, dancing bodies with no sense of personal space.

The walls were plain white, sticking to the odd theme that reflected on ultramodern technology and archaic structures, pulsing LED lights of the same purples and blues delineating alienesque patterns interlaced with classicism. There was a circular stage right in the centre of the establishment, surrounded by the same lavender water that ran on the front, the flow originating from an indoor fountain, on the opposite side.

Some hired DJ was mixing on the stage, dancers contorting themselves to the rhythm, and the guests vibed along, holding up glasses of their exotic drinks in the air, grabbing some stranger’s butt, grinding on whoever was in front of them.

Not too elegant, even if the environment was propitious to it. 

Keith’s headache intensified like the rolling of a wave, giving the illusion that it was about to pass before coming back even harder and sinking him into the metaphorical sand of ultimate discomfort. His scent was sharp as hell; he had noticed back in the gallery with several kinds of perfumes, remnants of cigarette smoke, and the smell of non-committal sex. But it was absolutely maddening in this large yet cramped place, the amount of different stimulation in a single, absentminded sniff, enough to make him dizzy and nearly lose balance. 

Shiro had him safe, though, the gloved hand closed around Keith’s wrist. He was taken up a set of stairs, where some people had flopped down in the lack of a better place to sit, their eyes rolled back as if they were intoxicated by some type of drug; girls in short dresses too satisfied to bother closing their exposed legs and men too glad for the view to point it out. Some made out in the staircase, wedding rings on their fingers meaning less than nothing, a bouncer reminding them to keep their decency lest they’d want to be thrown out of the venue.

It was never the type of ambience Keith felt comfortable in; it reminded him too much of a frat party, but with fancier clothing and more expensive alcohol. The second floor they had arrived to was more like a catwalk that surrounded the entire vicinity, an all-around balcony that surveilled the main dance floor. From up there, Keith spotted the bathrooms on the lower level, the busy bar, the several security enforcers. He also realized there was a door leading elsewhere, the entrance guarded by another bouncer lady. That was where Shiro’s sights were fixated on.

“Over there,” Shiro pointed at the door, face as close to Keith’s ear as possible to avoid screaming over the music. “That’s where we’re headed. It’s a lot quieter in there, so hang on.”

Keith could only hope his brain wouldn’t implode until then, either from the noise or Shiro’s proximity.

“Axca,” Shiro saluted with a wink. The bouncer’s eyes gleamed an unnatural yellow as they zoomed in on Keith, like a cat rejecting an unknown visitor; she was just about to hiss at him when Shiro spoke again. “Uh, this is Keith. He’s with me. Don’t worry.”

It certainly hadn’t crossed her mind to stop them from going into this special room or whatever, but her eyes remained on Keith a little too long for comfort, as if evaluating if his presence would be worthy. 

_ What’s her deal, anyway _ . 

She stepped away to let them in and just as the door closed, Keith was relieved to learn that the walls were soundproof ( _ thank fucking God _ ). His headache significantly adjusted to the newfound calm, decreasing the thundering in his brain, albeit not completely ceasing it.

He only wished Shiro wouldn’t mind holding his wrist for a while longer, but as naturally as they touched, their hands slipped from one another as well. 

A few curved steps took them to a third and final floor of the establishment, a complete contrast to what he had seen downstairs. A different type of music played, less noise and more smooth bass, fewer lights and more dark corners, several booths with curtains that provided an intimate feeling of reclusion for the few people sitting on the sofas there.

It reeked of sex, he supposed, but it smelled of something else; something he recognized but couldn’t quite put his finger to it.

Keith nearly had a heart attack when stepping into the division, the floor made of some type of completely transparent glass; it must be one-sided, however, since this secret room was not visible from the lower levels. The people looked like bobblehead ants from above, and the thought amused Keith; such a weird type of voyeurism, to look over unaware people.

Allura and the girl from before sat in one of them, chatting as they enjoyed the comfort of the couch, and Lotor prepared to sit with them ― which he should have, in Keith’s honest to God opinion, but instead, the Prince walked to the newcomers and he felt his eyes rolling back in anticipation.

“Ah. Glad you two could make it, Shiro; I was about to send out someone to check on you.”

“My buddy just needed a little air,” Shiro defended with a smile. “Hope we didn’t miss anything too important.”

“As a matter of fact, you haven’t; we simply had to begin our… dinner preparations without you,” Keith looked around and saw no waiters serving food, and that tied a knot in his throat. “Why don’t you help yourself? I am certain that at least one of my guests will suit your  _ quite _ peculiar tastes.”

Keith could swear he heard Shiro’s jaw crack at Lotor’s provocation, a vague scent of despair, of starvation, but it was such a passenger sensation that his mind was rushing with other pressing matters.

_ Such as food.  _

What did Lotor mean? A sniff of the room told him that there was more dead flesh than living, and his stomach turned, eyes widening as he saw Lotor sitting with Allura and the woman, one on each side of the human, and a few giggles after, they were kissing down her neck, tonguing at her jugular, before they―

“Holy  _ shit _ ―” The fledgeling stumbled backwards, trying to look away from pearly fangs sinking into tender skin, but they weren’t the only ones feeding. Another vampire, a female in a tight dress, pushed a man against the wall with her back and brought his wrist around to her red lips. There was a group on another couch going at it as well, the preys too enthralled, stuck in an erotic trance that they didn’t seem aware that they were being feasted on.

_ Too sick. _

“Keith. Keith, look at me,” Shiro called, gloved hand gently cupping Keith’s jaw to bring their eyes to an encounter that felt a little like sticking a finger into a power outlet. “I know this is a lot, but you need to learn how to feed. You shouldn’t feel hunger for another night or two, but it’s an inevitability.”

“I don’t―…” How to put his disgust into words? “Shiro―”

“You don’t have to do it like this, but you need to learn, in case you have no other option. Sit somewhere. Calm down. And watch.”

Everything boiled inside Keith; some thick bile with the consistency of petroleum climbing up his throat. He had to cover his mouth, trying, really,  _ really _ trying to keep looking. The girl Allura and Lotor fed on had her eyes rolled back, thighs rubbing together, any composure on that “Karen” haircut and sophisticated dress lost to some kind of fucked up orgasm. The two Kindred broke from the woman’s neck at the same time, leaning back in to lick at what should be an ugly wound.

“Noticed that?” Shiro said, next to him, “After you’re done, you should lick the neck, to immediately close the wound."

“Why didn’t the woman die?” Keith questioned, genuine confusion puzzling him.

“I’ve told you before; we’re not supposed to kill humans. We only take what we need to survive. The Masquerade demands secrecy in our ways, as well as that we leave no traces back to us. It’s unavoidable that we need blood, no matter where we get it from, but we have to make sure we leave no footsteps that can be followed.”

The smell of hunger faded into little more than satisfaction and Keith found it easier to sink back into the couch he wasn’t aware he had sat on before. Shiro was next to him and there was some comfort in that fact. “So these people, the human people, they… don’t know they’re being…? Doesn’t it hurt? It’s a little more than a mosquito bite.”

“No, they don’t know they’re being fed on. All they feel is this...” Shiro gestured with his hands as if looking for better words to illustrate his point, “ecstasy? They feel like they’re having the sex of their lives, basically. A sting of pain that then translates into the one-night stand of your life, the one you’ll always fantasize about without actually being able to piece the memories together.”

“What if they take too much blood?”

“Ideally, you can take about ten percent, but if you’re really hungry, you can drink somewhere between fifteen and thirty percent of the total blood volume; that’s where symptoms of blood loss begin to manifest, with a faster heartbeat to speed oxygen to tissues, the person will feel weak, appear pale, the skin cold. Then you must stop or the damage will be irreversible.”

Keith didn’t need to ask what that meant.

The thought of coming up to a stranger and force his mouth on their neck was just…  _ gross _ . He could accept that he had died, at that point, but the fact that Keith needed to depend on people’s blood to carry on… 

_ What a sick joke.  _

“The good news is, we’re going to leave soon,” Shiro got up, and the distance between them made Keith crave for their closeness just a second before.  _ No, please, come back. _ “Gonna order a  _ margarita _ .”

Keith didn’t question the meaning of those words until he saw Shiro sitting at the stool by the bar, leaning his shoulder on the counter. 

Vampires didn’t drink alcohol.

_ Hey _ , Keith read Shiro’s lips, which stretched into an impossibly breathtaking smile, and he felt like throwing up when he noticed that Shiro was talking to some guy.

A guy whose wandering eyes Keith had vaguely noticed before. He was wearing a fairly cheaper looking suit than anyone else in the establishment, blond hair with darker roots way too plastered to his head, back too curved over the drink he was nursing. He immediately straightened up, however, once Shiro sat next to him, all smirks and introducing himself with nothing but his first name. 

He seemed to stagger over his words but still trying to act all cool, and Shiro laughed at their banter as if he actually found a joke about the weather funny. The stranger moved his hand to fix Shiro’s tie even though it was just  _ fine _ . The stranger’s touch lingered for too long on Shiro, and the sound of his voice lowered into a more sultry tone. The stranger bit his lip as Shiro leaned in.

_ Too close. Too close. Too close. _

There was no telling how long it took for Shiro to charm the man into sitting with him on another couch, but once they did, all Keith could see from then on was  _ red _ .

Keith had to get up. He should leave. He wasn’t sure where to, but he had to get out of there. Out of that cursed place, and away from his cursed existence, where he wouldn’t have to deal with soft caresses that tilted the stranger’s chin up, that exposed his neck and made his blood rush faster, and not only to his face. Unaware as the stranger was, Keith forced himself to watch, Shiro’s beautiful, graceful fangs, stained with blood with the swift movement of a sinking bite.

Oh, he  _ saw _ the euphoria this time. The guy had a fucking hard-on, a frown on his face, fists grabbing onto the fabric of Shiro’s blazer, as if he was receiving the blowjob of his life. Shiro moaned as he drank; for anyone else looking at them it was a little more than a heavy make-out session with a bunch of hickeys and groping, and Keith’s approaching footsteps were silenced by the gasps and groans of the two.

“W...what?” The guy babbled when he was forced away from Shiro with a tug at the back of his shirt, tossed with a little bit more strength than someone Keith’s size should have. His pants were suspiciously stained, but Keith didn’t pay it much of a mind. “The  _ fuck _ …”

He flopped onto Shiro’s lap, mouth immediately locking onto Shiro’s. His tongue swirled around his lips and teeth, and okay, that was blood, and didn’t taste as gross as it should, with a hint of spice and the levity of the whiskey the guy had drunk, but Keith was getting high off of something else.

“You had enough?” Shiro asked when Keith stopped licking at his mouth, shuddering in his arms like an overly excited animal. He had taken a note on the other dude’s stained crotch, but much to his own embarrassment, there was legit cum in Keith’s pants.  _ Fuck. _

“Keith.  _ Calm down _ ,” Keith heard Shiro say with the severity of reprehension, eyes glowing, the rest of the words lost in a hazy distance, something about how he had to understand the relationship between a prey/predator, that he couldn’t go crazy at the mere sight of blood, especially not the blood that belonged to another predator.

_ No, that’s not it. _

Keith was going crazy at the sight of  _ him _ .

At Shiro’s open palm on someone else’s back. On someone else’s face. His mouth on someone else’s neck and the underline that he was making someone else feel  _ so fucking good _ .

Weakly, Keith dropped his forehead on Shiro’s collarbone, nuzzling between his shoulder and jaw. He didn’t expect the strong hand that came to rest on his waist and the other on the back of his neck, pulling him close to silence his heaving sobs. His face was wet with what should be tears, but Keith didn’t realize it was blood until he saw the tint on Shiro’s shirt through his blurred vision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, vampires cry blood and Keith discovers that the most embarrassing way.


	8. Clan Curse

**―** ** _a total of seventy people have been hurt in the attack, although the victims’ lives are not threatened by their injuries. The local authorities are yet to identify the group that attacked the venue during the concert. The police did not make a public statement yet and refused to talk to our reporters_ ** **―**

Keith woke up to the voice of the pivot of the news report. The flickering light of the poor connection of the television hurt his eyes and he grunted as he got up, a blanket sliding down his torso. His toes were freezing cold, as his whole body was, but he was getting used to that. He wondered how his face looked; it had been a while since he had seen his own reflection and already dreaded the time he’d come across a mirror.

After rubbing his eyes, he saw Shiro and instantly felt relieved; Allura was there too, her head leaning against Shiro’s shoulder, their backs turned to Keith. The backlight of the television made them both a single shadow, the sound soon muffled by Allura’s voice.

“We have to start somewhere,” she said, ignoring the text messages that vibrated her phone. “Lotor wants answers and he wants them  _ A-S-A-P _ .”

“There aren’t many places to start. Keith is our only lead so far,” Shiro replied, and that was when he looked over his shoulder. “Oh. Good, you’re awake.”

Both Shiro and Allura got up at once, the Princess turning off the TV by pressing the power button by the screen. They had changed from their formal clothing into a more comfortable outfit ― Shiro with sweatpants and a hoodie and Allura into gym shorts and a sweater. That was when Keith noticed his own clothes had been changed into sweats and a T-shirt.

He would rather not think about who had gone through that task to avoid the reddening of his cheeks.

_ Ah, too late. _

“Keith. Did you remember anything else from the night you were turned?” Shiro crossed his arms, biceps threatening to rip through the fabric of the hoodie. 

He tried to gather himself, shifting up to one side of the couch he was on to give Allura some room to sit as well. “I don’t really remember anything else. I went to the concert because I was dragged there ― no offence ― and the next thing I knew, people were running and yelling, and… you showed up.”

In Keith’s head, it was a little messier than that.

“There was no way of knowing he, specifically, would be there,” Shiro observed, tapping his chin pensively, “so this isn’t about them targeting Keith. It isn’t about territory either because all of Arizona’s been under Camarilla control since the early 2000s. What could they possibly want to achieve with that attack?”

“Do Anarchs ever have a plan?” Allura threw the possibility that the attackers were merely bored and had decided to cause some ruckus. It wasn’t unheard of that Anarchs would join in otherwise peaceful gatherings with the goal to make it a little more violent. “Just saying, it wouldn’t be too out of character for those animals.”

“They may appear to be senseless in their actions, but they do have intentions,” said Shiro, “There must be something else here. Something we’re missing. They must have known the Prince was in town if they’re aware that he owns the gallery. Allura’s tour dates are no secret, they’re scattered all over social media and posters. But opportunity doesn’t necessarily translate into action.”

Keith only wished he could help some. There was very little he could remember of that fatidical night, and even less that he understood what Shiro and Allura were talking about. Anarchs? Who were those guys, the school bullies? If the Prince was  _ oh so great _ , why couldn’t he keep some ruffians under control?

There was indeed some form of anarchy in the world he knew, starting in history books and most evidently in modern political matters, but to actually pay any attention to that? It was beyond him. He was only an activist for the environment, the well-being of animals and against meat consumption and it would never cross his mind to randomly attack people at a concert, whatever the cause.

If anything, that act was rather classified as terrorism than rebellion. And terrorism was motivated by money, power or religious superiority.

“Maybe they want to take it back?” Keith suggested, absentmindedly running his hand through his hair.

“What do you mean?”

At Shiro’s follow up question, Keith prompted himself up, straightening his back and crossing his legs beneath him on the couch. It was terribly hard to look him in the eyes, considering―  _ oh shit, he had kissed him,  _ ** _what the fuck_ ** _ . _ His face burned and his lips felt numb for a second until he realized he had a question to answer.

What  _ did _ he mean? His vote or opinion on the matter shouldn’t count for much since his general vampiric knowledge wasn’t too vast just yet, but all those Netflix criminology documentaries weren’t for nought. Rather than seek the causes of terrorism itself in order to understand it, a better approach is to determine the conditions that make it possible or likely.

“I―I don’t know, it hasn’t been that long since the beginning of the century. Maybe they want to take back territory that once belonged to them?”

“And they would start  _ here _ ?” Allura countered. “It seems oddly specific. The nearest anarch domain is in Hollywood, there’s plenty of land before they reach our state.”

“Are we… certain they started two nights ago? Was that the only recent attack?” That seemed to hold both the other Kindred in thought. It occurred to Keith that they should have this secret TV frequency to broadcast daily Kindred news―that ought to make it easier to know what’s up around the undead world. “Maybe we just aren’t seeing the bigger picture.”

“Controversial,” Allura giggled after a while, before whispering something only Shiro heard and proceeded to playfully slap her arm. She reached for a shoulder bag on the floor, from which she retrieved a notebook and a pen. Her scribbling speed was inhuman, and Keith shouldn’t be so surprised at that. She doodled a little scheme that summed up what had been discussed so far, and was ready to receive more ideas. “I’ll have to look into this with Lotor. It is possible that other places have been attacked but haven’t reported the incidents yet, or there’s no plan to do so. Some dumb Primogens choose to hide these little mishaps to avoid being seen as weak.”

“In the meantime,” Shiro picked up his smartphone, typed in a number he knew to see and began a call, “I’ll check in with an old friend of mine. She might have heard something.”

Keith was left to guess who that friend might be as Shiro paced to the other side of the room, feet bare, fingers drumming on the sill of a window with sunproof blinds. What time was it? It couldn’t have been earlier than two in the morning when they left the club; how long had he slept? 

That was when Keith found some time to look around and actually place himself somewhere. It had to be back in Allura’s manor, with all the white walls and the scent of candles, but it was a much more private division than the study he had entered before. Some sort of living room, with two couches and large pink bean bags, fluffy tapestries, some paintings on the walls and that primitive cubic television from before. He concluded that that must have been the six AM news report, one he only had watched once or twice, when he’d got up early and found that Lance fell asleep in their living room with the television on.

Shiro’s phone call was quick and he returned soon enough. “Let’s rest for the day. We have a meeting with Pidge at night.”

* * *

Keith didn’t sleep much. Maybe due to the flickering of the candle in the darkness of an unfamiliar room or the fact that he was all huddled up in a near fetal position to fit both himself and Allura in opposite ends of the same couch.

Maybe it was the fact that Shiro wasn’t asleep either. And that neither of them was saying anything, even though both of them knew that the other wasn’t sleeping.

Keith just tried not to look in the general direction of the bean bags Shiro used as a bed. He still owed Shiro an apology for… whatever had happened that night. A kiss? A prey or blood theft? Not even he was certain of what had transpired, but it weighed on him with the need of letting the apology out. Undoubtedly he had caused a scene of sorts, in a public place, in front of the Prince who was kind of a big deal.

He was yet to learn the repercussions of that reckless act. There was a lot he still needed to learn, and most of those lessons began by accepting the fact that he wasn’t Keith anymore.

Not the same Keith who prefered his eggs nearly burnt, and not the Keith who never matched his socks out of aesthetic; not the Keith who believed aliens were out there in the Universe,  _ but not vampires, that’s dumb _ ―

The new Keith was nothing like the old Keith, or rather, he  _ couldn’t _ be. But there were some aspects that he was beginning to enjoy about this new version of life.

  
Keith’s eyes met steely coloured ones in the darkness. Shiro was looking right at him.

Despite himself, Keith smiled. “... If my heart had a beat, you could hear it from there.” 

Shiro’s chuckle was a silent grumble, a melody that sunk right into Keith’s gut. “I may not hear a heartbeat, but I do hear your brain frying from all that thinking. Wanna talk about it?”

Did he? Keith wasn’t sure of what he had to say. It didn’t feel… private enough, even if he was certain Allura was sleeping, her cheek completely smashed against the pillow, her hair naturally tangling, the rest of her body gradually kicking Keith off of the couch.

Well, since he had been expelled from his temporary bed anyway, he decided to crawl to Shiro’s side, against any better judgement, the blanket dragging behind him. He leaned against the same bean bag Shiro laid against, their heads close to one another even if they looked in opposite directions.

Keith stared at his feet as he held his knees against his chest. Shiro seemed to be focused on whatever was in the ceiling, or beyond it. When Keith opened his mouth, he was silenced by the sound of Shiro’s voice at the same time, and they mumbled with “no, you go ahead” and “please, you go first.” Keith obliged at that order.

“I uh… Just wanted to apologize. I’m not entirely sure what happened at the club and the more I think about it the more messed up the memory gets. No matter what, I shouldn’t have acted on my instincts… Not like  _ that _ .”

“Oh,” is all Shiro says for a very long time. “Don’t worry about that.”

Keith tried not to, he really did. But there was something intoxicating about being close to Shiro, something that made him almost not regret the stolen kiss. The familiarity was dangerous. He was growing used to being close, to feeling  _ safe _ . He nuzzled against the soft bean bag as if nestling his head, making himself comfortable to remain there, and Shiro looked at him again. 

It couldn’t have been more than a few centimetres between the tips of their noses, their eyes meeting in a mellow, hazy encounter that tasted of... gratefulness. Keith’s notion of time was a little broken, all things considered, and thus he couldn’t tell how long they stared at one another, their thoughts their own, their words unspoken.

From up close he could see even the tiniest irregularities of the scar that divided Shiro’s face, he could count each dark lash, memorize each shade of grey of his irises, count the seconds it took for Shiro to have to blink. There was no breath between them; no heartbeat. Keith didn’t dare to move, all tucked with the blanket, but he was certain that if he were to lift his hand and touch the white section of Shiro’s hair, he wouldn’t dodge. Maybe he would even let him touch his face, so proficiently sculpted by the hands of the Gods.

_ It’s dangerous, _ Keith reminded himself, eyes flickering closed, the image burnt into his brain,  _ It’s dangerous to be this close to him. _

But if this life was something Keith would have to get used to, then he would be glad to have Shiro to count on.

They fell asleep at some point, neither of them able to say when.

* * *

The following night, as early as the sun hid, it was Coran, the eccentric butler, who drove them in a different car. Keith refrained from asking where they were headed to, not because he didn’t feel the need to know, but because it would originate a whole bouquet of other questions he didn’t have the energy to pursue.

Allura filed her nails, sharp heels on the dashboard, and Shiro was in the backseat with Keith. His phone was running a GPS app, with directions he gave Coran along the way. Whenever they seemed to be approaching the destination marked with a symbol, it changed again, and Shiro had to continue with the instructions; no one seemed surprised with the sudden changes in location, so Keith didn’t question them either. Maybe the app was broken? Crappy service? Maybe not even Shiro was aware of where they were going?

For one, Keith was certain they were meeting someone. At least they didn’t have to wear heir fancy suits again, and that alone was a relief. Keith had the same red flannel plaid shirt and the “I BELIEVE” alien T-shirt he had owned for years (and oddly, died in). Shiro wore what seemed to be military-style combat boots with steel toecaps, the chords thick and tightly tied. His impossibly tight black leggings were tucked inside the boots, and he had that same leather jacket from before. The backpack at his feet, however, was something he had never seen him carry, with more pockets and hidden zippers than Keith could count from where he sat.

“Right there, Coran, into that alley.” Shiro finally said, and the car slowed to a stop. “That should be it.”

They were in one of the worst areas of the city, with decaying buildings, questionable trades and illicit activities. Keith had been advised to stay away from the slums all of his life unless he wanted to wake up all drugged up in some maniac’s kitchen table with a nasty scar and one kidney less inside his body to be sold in the Black Market. The rumour had it that it was the central trade for most drugs and other substances.

_ Could vampires get high? _

He would rather not ask, the curiosity wasn’t that pressing. Shiro rummaged through the insides of the backpack, which caught Keith’s attention with the sounds of metal and hard plastic clacking against each other. He automatically hissed at the sight of a pistol.

“You know how to handle one of these?” Shiro asked, prompting Keith to take the gun.

“Fuck no,” he gasped. Why in the hell would they need weapons?! “I thought we didn’t  _ kill _ people?”

“Not everything you find down there is going to be friendly, Keith.” Allura provided from the front seat while inspecting her nails. “Lesson number one, baby, you can  _ never _ be too prepared.”

_ What the fuck? _ “Down… where?“

“If you don’t know how to use one, I’ll have to teach you some other time. But for now, then…” Shiro looked back inside the bag and brought out a sheathed dagger. “This more to your liking? Close combat?”

Keith definitely knew his way around a blade more than a nine millimetre. He nodded, and accepted the offer, tucking the blade on the side of his belt. It reminded him of the memento he had home, hidden in one of the drawers of his desk. Perhaps he should retrieve it some time. Could he even return to his apartment? He ought to ask Shiro, if he would at least be allowed to get some more clothes. They exited the vehicle, the cold air of the Arizonian night no colder than their bodies.

_ Shiro had been right, _ Keith grimly thought,  _ he did get used to the cold. _

He kind of made a point to check if Shiro was going to carry the bag, but once Shiro was armed with two pistols on each side of his hips and backup ammunition in his pockets and a pair of tactical flashlights, the backpack itself was left behind Allura’s seat. He had a piece of cloth around his neck that wasn’t there before and he tossed a matching one at Keith. A scarf? Keith held it up.  _ A mask _ , with round filters on each side. What the heck could that be for? He took the hint and let it hang around his neck for the time being.

“Hop off, ‘Lura,” Shiro held the door open for the Princess, bending over in a mocking bow.

The woman crossed her arms over her chest, shaking her head in sharp stubbornness. “Oh hell no, sugar plum, I ain’t going back down there.”

Keith couldn’t shake off the feeling that they weren’t going into some creepy basement of any of the old buildings next to which they were parked. The other option was a cemetery down on the road, or something else that Keith couldn’t see, like… a hidden magical portal or some fucked up shit like that.

Since vampires were real, Keith could only bet portals were a thing too. He was kind of looking forward to it.

“Allura. Come on, she’s going to want to see you,” Shiro insisted.

“Tell her I’m awfully sorry, but the Prince keeps me busy. I’ve meetings to attend to! I’m certain she’ll understand!”

Coran was very vehement as well, enumerating the several reasons why “that place was no place for a Primogen”. Shiro had given up mid-speech, closing the door and leading the way for Keith. “It’s just because of her goddamned shoes,” Shiro said, shaking his head in disapproval, “just because they’re designer brand, or whatever.”

Well, as it seemed, they would be going alone. Just the two of them. Shiro and Keith, in the middle of a shady looking neighbourhood and Shiro seemed to be leading them further and further into an alleyway that never seemed to end and gradually became darker, were that even possible. Just an average Thursday. What could go wrong?

_ Well. For one, it wasn’t a portal _ , Keith gulped, _ but it was no better either. _ Seeing Shiro on his knees, pulling up the heavy cover of a sewer made Keith wonder if it was even legal. Could they… walk down there?  _ Would  _ they really just go down into a sewer? Wasn’t that something only sanitary workers were allowed to do, and with proper protection and safety measures?

The smell struck him first and Keith followed Shiro’s cue to pull the mask up to cover his mouth and nose, adjusting it tightly on the back of his head. It didn’t completely neutralize the putrid smell of sewage and filth ― the excrements of the whole fucking state condensed into one single tunnel ― but it made it somehow more bearable.

“I’ll go first. Be careful not to slip, these manhole ladders get kinda greasy.” When Shiro slipped his leg into the circle, Keith understood why Allura hadn’t wanted to come. Had he known, he too would’ve imposed a little. Maybe the person they were meeting hadn’t heard of coffee shops, parks or, uh, clubs, for meetups? The sewer seemed… extreme, even for dead people who didn’t want to be found by anyone on accident.

But if Shiro believed there were answers down there… Well. Keith didn’t have a choice either way. At least they were very damn certain they wouldn’t be followed, not willingly. He entered the sewer after Shiro and dragged the lid to close it as silently as he could.

As soon as they had settled on what seemed to be a solid ground, Shiro brought out one of the flashlights, clicking on it to light up the darkness of the sewer. Rats scattered along the corners of the sidewalk, avoiding the river of toxic dejections that ran in the centre of the cylindrical structure that prolonged for what could be miles and miles, splitting into several directions. It undoubtedly covered the whole city, and further beyond. The pipes on the walls transported liquids that Keith tried not to visualize, the sound and smell being explicit enough.

Shiro walked with confidence, jumping to the opposite sidewalk, over the sewage water. Keith followed right after, not wanting to hang behind.

“You know where you’re going?” Keith asked, trying not to become too self-conscious about his situation, to not touch the walls, the pipes, or  _ anything _ .

“I think so.”

“That’s the same as no.”

“I guess.”

That didn’t tranquillize Keith in the slightest.

* * *

They must have walked for at least an hour, and they had come across a handful of split paths in which they had had to choose to either go left or right. Shiro seemed confident in his decisions― left, left, right, left, right― and Keith only tried to keep up, trying to figure out if it was about instinct, practice, or pure luck (or the lack of it, should they not find the person they were meeting).

Keith wouldn’t say it aloud, but he was beginning to get impatient.

Ahead of them was another intersection, Shiro’s attentive eyes scanning the tunnels for some clue about which direction to take. That one shouldn’t be so hard, Keith supposed; one of the tunnels was barred with heavy and thick grids, too close together for them to pass through. No lock within sight, either. There wasn’t much of an option.

“Keith?” Shiro began. They would have to go right, but Shiro still seemed curious about the one way they couldn’t go through, inspecting the thickness of the bars, scratching at their surface, pointing the flashlight towards the pitch-black darkness. “Before we get to my friend, I should warn you about something.”

_ Ah, did that mean they were getting close? God fucking bless. _ A warning didn’t seem like a good omen, but no time would be soon enough for them to leave that disgusting place.

“What?” He asked, already leaning towards the pathway to the right and peeking towards the infinite labyrinth of stone and toilet water.

“You know how we talked about  _ sires _ ? That when someone turns you, they kind of become your parent, in a sense?” Keith nodded, “That has a little more to it. You gain more than just your sire’s blood. You inherit certain traits of your sire. For instance, Allura, as a Toreador like the Sire before her, is extremely fascinated with art and beauty and fashion. And Prince Lotor, as one of the Ventrue clan, doesn't feed on just about anyone; he’s picky about the victim’s IQ, their status, and their history.”

“That… makes sense,” Keith supposed, frowning when Shiro roughly tugged on the bars with his single gloved hand to test their stability. They didn’t budge.

“In some clans, that’s more perceptible than in others. In the case of the Nosferatu… It’s a very tragic heritage, let’s say.” With one sole impulse, Shiro used both hands to spread two of the bars, separating them just enough for him to pass, with the ease of breaking a pair of chopsticks.

_ Well, that was impressive _ . Keith was a little more than marvelled, so much that he had forgotten half of what had been said. “ _ Uh _ ―how so?”

He supposed they were going left after all; the easiest path wasn’t always the appropriate one. Shiro led the way once more, and Keith followed closely behind.

“At some point, during their Embrace, their appearance suffers; it twists and contorts, deforming their very facial and body structure, and it makes the Kindred look at the very least repulsive. That’s what drove the Nosferatu down here, or to other super secretive Havens. If the humans had one look at them, they would know they were monsters; one look at them, and they’d be breaking the Masquerade.”

“And this person we’re looking for…” Keith implied.

“Just a fair warning; she gets upset if you stare too much.”

The appearance wasn’t something Keith deeply cared for; his curiosity was sharp and insatiable, yes, but he maintained his manners at a respectful level. He would never stare or evidently point out something that’d be rude, unless that person was stepping on another type of boundary.

The tunnels eventually led them to a wider area, circular, with several other connections. Keith adjusted the mask on his face, feeling as if he could finally inhale something that was just a little closer to pure air. Up in the ceiling (which made him realize they were further down than he imagined) he could spot a few grids, yellow lights from lamp posts, the sounds of an occasional speeding car indicating that they should be under a highway.

Keith walked ahead, neck bent backwards as he tried to retain as much of that light as possible, so he could taste the idea of being away from there soon enough. “Think we’ve much longer to go? Is your friend close?”

“Sneaky little rat…” Shiro chuckled with danger in his voice, shaking his head. “And we were having a rather peaceful stroll, even if the view isn’t great. The stench, much less.”

“Huh?” Keith frowned, pointing his flashlight in the other’s general direction. What was Shiro talking about? Were the vapours of the sewers getting the best of him? It was a maddening scent, alright, but would it be nearly enough to make a vampire babble?

“I didn’t want to have to do this, but alas.” Shiro’s gloved hand reached for one of the pistols on his belt in a second, the loaded barrel pointed right at the space between Keith’s eyes. “You’re not giving me much of a choice, are you.”

“Shiro…? What the fuck?” Betrayal had the effect of a swelling tongue in his mouth, making it impossible to speak, to swallow, to  _ think _ . Shiro’s eyes glowed a faint, swirling red, the activation of a spell that Keith didn’t understand. Was he trying to subdue him? He had that aura about him, that demanded that he would compel or  _ else _ .

It was terrifying. Crushing. Keith gulped, hand hovering at the dagger. If Shiro wanted to kill him, why bring him down there? Why go through the trouble of arming him if all he wanted was to shoot him?

_ Unless _ ...

“My buddy may be a recent fledgeling, but I’m pretty confident that he can dodge a bullet. What about  _ you _ ?”

The minor tweak of Shiro’s eyebrow confirmed Keith’s suspicions; the dagger was a lot lighter than the one he was used to, and the handle danced between his fingers before he managed to grab it solidly enough to crouch and spin with a speed he didn’t know he had, cutting at the air behind him in a swift, circular motion.

Except it wasn’t just air. Blood spurred out of nowhere, and Keith propelled himself backwards, assuming a fighting stance next to Shiro. Screams of high pitched agony echoed within the sewers, spreading across the several tunnels connected at that wider area, the grotesque image of a monster coming into view as if an invisibility cloak had been removed.

It was… horrendous. A face twisted by the curse Shiro had described, the looks of someone who had made out with a pneumatic drill, features absolutely dislocated, bones were broken and healed in all the wrong places. He was curved over his belly, blood pouring out of him.

No wonder they had to hide. Keith understood then.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Shiro demanded. Keith was certain that some type of spell was active, either by the way the Nosferatu scrambled away, avoiding to look in his eyes or the general aura that Shiro emitted. “Answer me.”

The perpetrator had no chance.

“Haven. Mine. Close.” The words were as distorted as his face, discourse kept to a minimum as if ripped off of him with a corkscrew. Which could be farther from the truth, really. 

“Hm. He’s not lying.” Shiro sighed, his words coated with a certainty that left no room for doubt. “We may have just stumbled a little too close to his hideout. Tipped a trigger wire or something.”

“What do we do? He’s... bleeding out.” Keith observed.

“Takes more than this to take me down, you newbie,” the monster spat. And he was right, Keith realized, as the visible grey fleshed seemed to be sewing itself back together, the blood loss gradually ceasing. It was abhorrent to look at.

Shiro put the weapon down. “I’ll just wipe his memory―”

“Don’t fucking  _ bother _ , I won’t tell no one,” said the stranger, razor-like teeth showing in a grin that haunted little children’s nightmares. “I know when to quit a losing battle,  _ Champion _ . And no ‘money for info’ deal is worth getting on your bad side.” The vampire faded from view, the invisibility returning like a switch, and he was nowhere to be found once more.

Hell, Keith could only hope Shiro’s contact didn’t pull an invisibility trick like that.

“Champion?” Keith echoed, knife returning to the handle. “What was that supposed to mean?”

“It doesn’t matter. Let’s go.”


End file.
